Lee let out a breathless laugh that told me he knew I was lying and eased more of his dick inside, forcing a groan out of me. I breathed out low and slow, my back arching, and hooked my legs behind him.
“Okay?” he asked again.
I lifted my chin. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Lee put one hand beside my head, his biceps bulging, and thrust so hard I saw stars. All that pounding dough or whatever the fuck he usually did back here had sure given him the strength to pound me too. He didn’t hold back, setting a punishing pace, each thrust sending a jolt of electricity through me, because of course the asshole nailed my prostate every damn time. I dug my fingers into his back hard enough to leave bruises and tried to pretend I wasn’t going to come any second now as pleasure coiled tight inside me.
And then Lee leaned down and bit my collarbone where he’d sucked up a mark before, and any intentions I’d had of lasting a non-embarrassing length of time just exploded right then and there, along with the rest of me. It was hot and messy andloud. I yelled like he was murdering me, which, at that point, he pretty much was.
I flopped back onto the table, gasping for breath, and Lee finished quickly. He pulled out, stripped the condom off, and jerked himself off over me. Which was probably something I would have bitched about if my brain hadn’t been mush and if I’d been able to actually tear my eyes away from the sight of his hand moving fast over his dick like that.
Hot. As. Fuck.
But, you know, not like I was gonna tell him that.
As soon as I had the energy to move again, I sat up and slid gingerly off the table. My knees held me up, thankfully, but they were a little shaky. I didn’t look at Lee as I tugged my underwear and pants back on. I grabbed some paper towels and wiped the jizz off my stomach, then picked my shirt up from the floor, shook flour out of it, and pulled it on as well.
“Okay,” I said. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
He blinked at me, his pants still undone. “What?”
I gestured at the prep table and the smudged marks on the surface where my ass had been balanced. “Well,I’mnot cleaning it up. See ya.”
And then I bolted before he could say anything else.
When I got home,Cash was burritoed in his favorite blanket in the living room armchair.
“Rough day?” I asked, dumping my backpack on the floor.
He nodded and didn’t say anything. I knew shit was bad when Cash didn't say anything even to me.
I squeezed into the chair beside him and waited.
He let out a slow breath. “Mr. McIntyre died last night. I liked him. He was sick for a while, though.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I hated when Cash was sad and there was nothing I could do about it. At least it wasn’t so bad he was hiding in the closet, though. It had been a while since he’d done that.
He hummed and tugged the edges of his blanket burrito free so we could cuddle. It was nice for a little while, and then he said, “You smell like jizz.”
See, people thought Cash was all sweet and shy because of the not-talking thing, but he was actually sometimes kind of a dick.
“I fucked the boss,” I said, and Cash jolted hard.
“Thefuck?” he demanded. “He must be fifty!”
“Not Bobby! Jesus fucking Christ. The baker. Lee.”
“Oh.” Cash relaxed again, and then, his brows tugging together, he said, “Why?”
“What do you mean why? Because he’s hot and I wanted to.”
He hummed again, like he didn’t quite believe me. Which wasn’t fair, because Leewashot, and Ihadwanted it. Just that wasn’t the only reason, but I wasn’t sure Cash would be able to wrap his head around the idea of hate fucking. We might have looked exactly the same, but we had very different natures. He’d gotten all the good stuff, his occasional comments about jizz notwithstanding. He’d gotten the kindness, the empathy, and the crazy belief that most people in the world were actually decent human beings if you gave them a chance to prove it—and I’d gotten all the shitty stuff from whatever had been left over floating in the dregs at the bottom of the personality barrel.
Cash wouldn’t have been annoyed by Lee and all the shit he’d done, like leave me instructions on how to make different types of coffees, or show me how to open the walk-in door from the inside, or tell me I could have free quiches, because Cash didn’t get that it was patronizing. I’d never asked for Lee’s help, so fuck him for giving it to me like he thought I needed it or whatever. Because I didn’t. I didn’t need anyone’s help.
I pressed my fingers to the place on my collarbone where he’d bitten me, just to feel the bruise. It throbbed a little with my heartbeat. So did the ache in my ass. And here I was wondering why the hell Lee Torres got under my skin so bad, when this afternoon I’d invited him there.
My dad had always said I was a useless fuck-up who didn’t know what was good for me, and hell, maybe he’d been right about that. Everything else he’d ever said had been total bullshit, so going by the law of averages he had to have gotten at least something right once in his life, I guessed. But it was easier to hate Lee than to like him and then have to be grateful to him, and I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
